


Sammy's First Tooth

by Stark_on_the_Iron_Throne (Keepcalmanddontgetangry)



Series: Sammy's First... [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Childhood, Family, Gen, One Shot, Parenthood, Single Parents, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-25
Updated: 2013-09-25
Packaged: 2017-12-27 14:57:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/980256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keepcalmanddontgetangry/pseuds/Stark_on_the_Iron_Throne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes it is difficult being a parent and a hunter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sammy's First Tooth

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I am not making any profit from posting this Fanfiction. I do not own any of the characters.

It was three in the morning and John hadn’t slept a wink; not that he wasn’t used to that by now, not sleeping at all seemed to be part of the job. The job being the role of both a hunter and a father, that he vacillated uneasily between, searching to strike a balance. Neither was easy, especially not on a night like this.

Sammy was teething, about time too--John had started to think that the boy would be nothing but gum!--and Dean was up with a cold. They said bad things came in threes and this was no exception; the third being that he was still working off a wound that he had got to his arm. He’d landed on it awkwardly while trying to make a quick exit on his last hunt, but it had been worth it as it had meant he’d got to see his boys sooner than initially planned. He didn’t like leaving them under somebody else’s care, even though the job sometimes called for it. Right now though this… this all felt like torture.

“Yeah, okay, Dean, give me a second,” John said, picking up his crying younger son and cradling him in one arm. About half an hour ago he’d managed to get Dean off to sleep, but it seemed that he’d either been woken up by his brother’s crying or by his own poorly state.

“What is it, Sammy? Your gums hurting you? Let me see,” he sighed, sitting down onto the edge of the bed, patting his knee before putting a finger into Sam’s mouth to have a look. “Come here, Dean, come see your brother’s growing teeth. See why he’s screaming the place down.”

And he was. There’d already been a couple of complaints a few hours before. John had tried his best to explain to the stranger what the situation was, and how, if he could, he would stop his son from screaming. The stranger hadn’t been not too impressed with this reasonable approach and had threatened to call the manager to have them removed. Lack of sleep was what he blamed for what he said next:

“He’s a baby. Babies cry. Deal with it. And if you come knocking here again I will break your fucking nose.”

After the door had slammed in that stranger’s face he hadn’t heard complaints from anyone else, though he could have sworn he’d heard some cars leaving.

“Sammy’s hurt,” Dean said, wiping his runny nose on John’s shirt before putting one of his hands onto his younger brother’s stomach to try and comfort him.  John didn’t bother to remove his grubby grip. It wasn’t like he didn’t need to take a shower anyway.

John removed the finger from his son’s mouth and the cries that it had been muffling filled the room again. “Only because his teeth are growing,” he explained, talking over the loud wails. He groaned as he lifted his bad arm to ruffle Dean’s hair. “He’s not screaming half as much as you d-- Yeah, okay Sammy! Okay!” John snapped, moving to stand up.

Dean slid off of his knee and sat on the bed, opening his arms wide when his Daddy gave him his brother to hold. He watched on, rocking Sammy the best he could--which was difficult considering his brother was already quite big--as John bent over his jacket he’d left hanging over a chair. From the jacket’s pockets he brought out a hip-flask.

“Little drop won’t do you no harm,” he said, turning back to his boys once he’d tipped a tiny bit of the liquid onto his finger. “Open Sammy’s mouth for me, Dean. Good boy.”

Ever so carefully, John put his finger back into his crying son’s mouth and massaged his gums with the drop of amber liquid. “That should feel better,” he concluded, taking Sam out of Dean’s arms as he sat back down onto the bed, “Or it will soon enough.”

His eldest son scrambled to sit back up next to him, holding onto his bad arm--as if he knew that his Daddy hurt there--as he attempted to rock Sam into some sort of sleep.

“It’s still the same old story… ...love and glory... ….case of do or die…” John mumbled the words, humming the tune when he forgot the words, his voice gruff and out of tune. “The world will welcome lovers… as time goes by… ...as time goes by.”

By the end of the tune his youngest son was falling asleep in his arms. Slowly John got up, momentarily leaving Dean alone on the bed, as he put Sam back into his cradle. As soon as he sat back down Dean was climbing into his lap, big tears in his eyes.

“What’s the matter, kiddo?” John asked with a sad sigh, feeling Dean’s forehead with the back of his hand. “You’ve got a little bit of a temperature,” he added, smiling sympathetically at his son.

Dean buried his head into his chest, his little hands--big compared to Sammy’s--fisting into balls as he held onto his shirt. All it took was the sound of a small sob for John to pick up his son properly, and hold onto him tight, as he stood up.

“But we can fix that,” John promised, walking them into the cheap kitchen attached to the motel room, “We can sweat that fever out of you. That’s what Daddy does when he feels sick. C’mere.”

He put Dean on top of one of the kitchen surfaces as he began to quietly rummage through the cupboards and the fridge. He’d bought some food, it had seemed necessary when it became clear that none of them were really fit to move around for a while. Dean watched him and appeared to be a little more content. There were no more tears as he became increasingly interested in what his Daddy was doing.

John couldn’t find a lot but there was enough to make something: a couple of cloves of garlic, some chilli pepper, a couple of onions, a can of tomatoes and a tin of beans. Pretty good haul, considering the circumstances. Soon the small area was filled with the smell of everything cooking together in the pan. Once it was done he served it up in two bowls, Dean’s obviously smaller than his own helping.

“See, we’ve got everything in here,” John said, handing Dean a spoon, “Everything but the kitchen sink.” He chuckled to himself at the joke, which he could see was lost on his son due to the look on his face. “Eat up,” he coughed, taking a spoonful for himself, “It’ll make you feel better.”

The expression on Dean’s face changed as he ate the first spoonful of his stew. His whole face seemed to scrunch up, and his eyes watered a little, but when he saw his Daddy eat it with no problem he made no complaints. Of course, John finished first, in his opinion it had been delicious. After putting his empty bowl in the sink, leaving the washing-up for the morning, he looked down at his boy who was still soldiering through it.

“Do you like it?” he asked with a chuckle, kneeling down in front of his son, “Or is it too hot for you?”

Dean shook his head to the latter. As his articulatory skills were not yet completely developed he wasn’t sure how to explain that, at first, he hadn’t liked the hot burning taste, but by being determined to eat it all he had started to very much like it. And it was from then on that whenever Dean felt a little bit unwell he would run up to his Daddy and ask for the ‘kitchen sink’ while pointing at the kitchen in whatever room they were in.

When his bowl was empty, he handed it to his Daddy who was sat in front of him on the floor. John stood up and put it with his own and then, using the sleeve of his shirt, wiped Dean’s nose. With his other hand he felt his son’s forehead again while picking him up.

“You’ll be alright,” John said, carrying him towards the bed. “Ready to try and get some sleep now that Sammy’s not screaming the place down?” he asked, tucking the boy into bed.

The mention of Sammy visibly had Dean on alert again. The moment of having John to himself, and forgetting to put Sammy’s needs before his own, over. Quickly he shot a look to where his baby brother was sleeping, and then looked up at his Daddy for confirmation that he was okay and that it really was alright for them to go to sleep. This display cut John somewhere deep inside him. At the back of his mind he could hear his conscience telling him the kid shouldn’t have to be worrying about that, but he pushed it aside.

“Its okay, son, I’m going to bed too,” John said, lying down onto the mattress next to Dean. It didn’t take long for his boy to fully relax and roll into his side, putting his arm over John’s chest in an attempt to embrace him all.


End file.
